


To Find Perfection

by Deannie



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2018-02-07 13:22:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1900452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deannie/pseuds/Deannie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And then Jack said something. I can't remember exactly what it was, but it was something along the lines of "boy, didn't that planet make us say some weird things." And I realized that, in a way, it hadn't. In a way, the harmonics on 445 had pretty much just made us say what we really thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Find Perfection

"Hey Daniel?"  


Sam. _She_ sounds perky.  


"Hey."  


She even looks perky. I don't know what it is about her that makes her still look fresh after fifteen hours in the lab. I must look like a strung-out bum right about now.  


She leans against the doorjamb, her smile looking a little forced. "Listen, Janet and I were going to pick Cassie up and go get some pizza. Want to come?"  


I shake my head. As usual. "No thanks, Sam," I beg off, gesturing dimly at the papers I've surrounded myself with. "I really need to get this translation done for SG-6." She doesn't believe me.  


I'd love to say I cared.  


I continue as if I don't see her glaring. "I don't think General Hammond would be too pleased if we accidentally sold off California to the Miktos, would he?"  


Sam gives me another frown, but she's willing to play along. Willing to give me space. Hell, everyone seems willing to give me that lately, don't they? Not that I'm not glad Jack has finally given it up...  


"Daniel..." Okay, maybe I spoke too soon.  


"Look, say hi to Cassie for me, huh?" And go away, Sam. Please? Just go away.  


She doesn't. She looks at me for a long, long moment, and I'm sure I'm in for a lecture from big sister.  


"She misses you, Daniel," she says instead. "We all do."  


I fake a smile--I've always been good at that--and wave her off. "I'll come next time. I promise." Promises, though? Not so good at them, am I? "I just really--"  


"Need to get this done," she finishes for me, a little on the cool side. There's an eternity of silence between us before she continues in a low, soft voice. "Are you going to be ready to ship out tomorrow afternoon?"  


You mean am I going to be ready to play archeologist? Am I going to be ready to face the next great crisis?  


Or am I going to be ready to face Jack?  


"Sure." I lean back, trying to think happy thoughts. "It'll be a nice change, visiting someone so clearly more evolved than we are."  


Sam smirks, and I can feel her worry easing a little even from across the room. "Don't let the colonel hear you call the Tok'ra that."  


Oh, I think Jack's heard more than enough of what I think, Sam.  


As if she heard my thoughts--or at least read the sudden stone of my features--she nods sadly.  


"I'll see you at the briefing tomorrow." As she leaves, I hear a stern "get some rest" float back to me.  


Rest. Sure. That'll happen.  


The translation in front of me is suddenly gibberish as my mind drifts back to PJ2 445.  


It should have been easy. It should have been fascinating. A planet that demonstrates a symbiosis between plant and animal life so complete that a tiny change to one could cause the destruction of the other? It should have been good for half a journal of speculation. I know Sam's been running tests on the audio tracks of my videotapes, trying to draw some sort of comparison between that planet's sonic background and our own.  


Personally, I'd just as soon forget the whole thing.  


Oh, I was happy enough that first few days, after we finally figured out how to heal the damage we'd caused. We got to see the inhabitants happy and, as Jack said, "playing with their plants," and it all should have been good. Another successful jaunt through the universe for the famed SG-1.  


And then Jack said something. I can't remember exactly what it was, but it was something along the lines of "boy, didn't that planet make us say some weird things." And I realized that, in a way, it hadn't. In a way, the harmonics on 445 had pretty much just made us say what we really thought.  


Or maybe it was just me.  


I _do_ think Jack can be ignorant and condescending. And he does discount at least half of what I say. Probably more than half, if I'm going to be as truthful with myself as I was with him.  


He's abrasive, and he's mean-spirited sometimes. He makes everything a joke and he acts like I'm a twelve-year-old who can't take care of himself.  


He's also caring and cunning and he looks after his own. He'd rather die himself than see one of his team hurt--than see _anyone_ hurt, really. He's a good man, but he's also a jackass.  


So what if, whatever else he might think of me... what if he really does think I'm flaky and unrealistic?  


No, it's not even that. It's not the flaky part--even _I_ admit I can be flaky. Absent-minded professors are born, my dad used to say. I definitely was. It's not that, it's...  


> _You want inappropriate sarcasm? How's this:  
>  nice to meet you._

  
He  
noticed. I don't know why I thought he wouldn't notice--he notices  
everything. That's another thing that drives me up a wall and has  
probably saved my life a dozen times. He knows I've been avoiding him  
these past couple of months.  


I just don't think he'd really want to know _why_.  


It started with the Ancients' repository. I swear, he stepped through the gate, headed somewhere that seven symbols couldn't reach, and I really didn't think he was ever coming back. And somehow, it hurt the way Sha're hurts...  


And that is... wrong. It's wrong and it's stupid and it's never going to happen. Even if... God. Even if we _don't_ get Sha're back, I'm never going to... I mean he couldn't--  


The crash of three of my favorite artifacts as they hit the floor makes me look up in shock. My hands are shaking, and again... my head hurts.  


But the computer is silent. There's no alien sound now, digging at me, making me crazy. I'm just crazy all by myself, I guess. But I think I already knew that. Which is why I haven't been to a team movie night in more than a month.  


On a mission, it's easier. We're SG-1, peaceful explorers from the planet Earth. I have my job, and he has his--and his usually involves saving my ass, or at least looking out for it.  


At home, though? At home, he's Jack. Always with a quick joke, always with a ready smile... He's a friend. And he's too damn close for comfort.  


God, and comfort is something I need _so much_ right now!  


I go down on my knees and pick up the pieces of my travels that were destroyed by my little temper tantrum. Okay, not completely destroyed--the statue from P8X 225 is bronze, or something like it--but one arm has come off of a votive piece I traded an MRE for on Cormalin. Fittingly enough, it's an erosithius--translation: love-bringer. The culture believes that just by having one, a person will attract the perfect mate.  


I have an irrational urge to watch the door and see who'll come through first: Jack or Sha're.  


The door is still standing open, waiting. It probably always will be, now the statue is broken. The damage is done, and now I'll never find the perfect mate.  


Or maybe it's not the statue. Maybe I just found the perfect mate twice...  


And God help me if I ever have to choose between them.

* * *  
The End


End file.
